


Jehan's Quest

by Grania



Category: Les Misérables (2012)
Genre: Gen, mentions of recreational drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-27
Updated: 2013-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-16 09:16:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/860471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grania/pseuds/Grania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by the prompt on LJ:  http://makinghugospin.livejournal.com/13024.html?thread=7335648#t7335648</p><p>"In which Jean Prouvaire finds every possible excuse to kiss everyone. Some people are annoyed by it. Some people think it's endearing. Some ignore it.<br/>I just really want lovey Jean Prouvaire.<br/>♥"</p><p>I took it as a 8+1, with Marius as the +1</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grantaire

1\. Grantaire

The first time it happened almost accidentally. No, wrong word: It happened on the spur of a moment, simply because the opportunity provided itself, because Grantaire had finally, after an almost impressively, in any way depressively, long, cynical rant stopped talking, and his lips were ajar and red from all the wine he had drunk all evening, and Jehan was tired and also a little bit desperate, wondering whether there was still anything bright left in Grantaire, and whether he would ever understand what Jehan so often tried to tell him, so he leant over before Grantaire could start again, and swiftly put their lips together.

Other, more level-headed persons, strangely enough the voice of reason in Jehan’s head always sounded like Combeferre, would have argued that kissing Grantaire had nothing to do with any of Jehans’ fears, but Jehan never listened to his inner Combeferre.

Grantaire’s lips were soft, though he started to move not two seconds later, trying to get away from Jehan, but Jehan did not want to give up yet, instead he followed Grantaire’s backward movement, and forced his tongue through the lips and teeth. Grantaire shook his head, and his tongue was so far back he seemed to have swallowed it, and maybe he had eaten something with garlic today, in any way the kiss did not feel or taste well, and finally Jehan gave up.

Grantaire stared at him, and Jehan stared back, musing whether he should attempt a second kiss.  
Grantaire seemed strangely sober, in more than one sense of the word, as if he was trying to understand what it meant.

“I don’t know either”, Jehan said.

For a second Jehan feared he might be angry, but finally Grantaire’s frown disappeared, and instead he grinned faintly.  
“You should really cut back on the laudanum. Enjolras will blame it all on me.”

He hadn’t taken any that day, but he did not mention it, because he was too flooded with relief that Grantaire was not angry with him.  
He shrugged and smiled, and it was enough for Grantaire. With a last chuckle he went back to his bottle, she received a much more tender and affectionate kiss than the living lips next to him, and left Jehan with his own thoughts that whirled through his head and formed a wonderful idea.


	2. Bahorel

It was not his intention to continue with Bahorel.   
To be honest he did not know with whom he should, though he always felt that Feuilly would be the right, up until that moment two days after the bad kiss with Grantaire that did not discourage him in the least.

Enjolras was finishing the speech he held on the edge of a fountain on a crowded square in the Latin quarter, because dozens of soldiers were approaching from the other end, and the mood was so tense that it could only end one way. 

Enjolras tried to reach the spectators for one last announcement, encouraging them to come to his next speech, Jehan could not hear the date, and Combeferre tried to usher the women and children out of the danger zone, and Jehan did not bother to look for the other amis, because his whole body was buzzing with the power that oozed out of the people around him, his fingers prickled, and though he knew it was wrong he wanted nothing more than to watch the fight unravel. 

And maybe fight a bit too. 

The crowd pushed towards the oncoming soldiers, hollering Enjolras’ battle calls, he was caught in their middle, barely able to do one step that was not forced by the crowd’s movement. 

Somewhere, Combeferre tried to calm them down, urged them to stop, that today was not the day to fight, and for a second there was silence around Jehan and he was drowning in pity, and he raised his hands and took a deep breath to help him in his soothing shouting, but then Bahorel was at his side, all grin and sparkle and power, and Jehan was lost.

“The cobblestones around the fountain are loose”, Bahorel shouted over the noise, grabbed his hand and shoved his way through the crowd, away from Combeferre and Enjolras. 

They reached the far end of the fountain and knelt down.   
For a while the people that passed around them kicked them in the sides or stumbled over their legs until others realised what they were doing and joined them in their deconstruction works.   
He watched Bahorel as he dug the cobblestones out of the ground, stacking them between himself and Jehan.   
There were stains of blood on some of them, because of course Bahorel would not care about his fingers, and Jehan almost forgot to collect his own stones because he was so immersed in the picture, and then he had the idea.

He waited until the moment when Bahorel had his arms full of stones, until the moment between looking over to him and standing up, and in that moment he jumped forward and went in for the kiss.

It was hard and rather tense, full of teeth, but it was good, because it made Jehan’s stomach flutter the way he liked it most, and Bahorel went slack and even allowed Jehan’s tongue to enter. 

They separated when the first shot echoed over the square and the crowd’s anger doubled.

Bahorel guffawed, and before Jehan knew what happened, their heads banged together in a loving, painful clout.

“Come on!”, Bahorel shouted, waiting until Jehan had focused his gaze again and scrambled to his feet, then they took off to battle together.


	3. Combeferre

Contrary to the legends told in Paris, Combeferre could get angry. And when he did, it was better to be out of his reach, but because Jehan had never been the person to value wisdom or self-preservation, and also because Bahorel, that lousy traitor, occupied Joly, he had been forced to ask Combeferre for help with the ugly gash on his right upper arm.

They had all found their way back to the Musain after the short riot, and only Bahorel and Jehan were mentionably injured.   
For Enjolras the day had been a success, he had rallied the people, fought the government, and all without one death, but Combeferre measured success differently, and from the way he poked the needle through the wound Jehan suspected that he knew about his and Bahorel’s role in the battle.

Jehan tried to choke down the whimpers and groans that crept up his throat every time Combeferre pulled the thread, but he never succeeded.

“I’m sorry”, he said during a short break when Combeferre was fondling the rubbing alcohol. 

Combeferre snorted softly, but he did not look up, and all Jehan could see was a flaxen shock of hair.   
He cocked his head and bent his upper body to see his face, and for a second Combeferre lifted his head ever so slightly to see what his patient was doing, then he rolled his eyes and hunched even more over the bottle until all Jehan could see under Combeferre’s forehead were his eyelashes that danced over his cheeks.

Jehan was still in the same position when Combeferre sat up straight, ready to pick up his work again, and for a second he watched him from this strange perspective. 

He smiled, and Combeferre wanted to smile too, Jehan saw it even with crooked neck, but he chased it away by looking at Jehan’s wound, and the soft look in his eyes died.

“It’s a bullet wound! You were grazed!”, he snarled instead, and started to poke Jehan again.

Jehan wondered whether he wanted an answer, because he knew that quite well.

“You were almost shot!”, Combeferre added after a while and glared at Jehan.

Jehan nodded dutifully.

“For God’s...aren’t you afraid to die?”, Combeferre exclaimed and lowered the needle. He looked straight at Jehan, and Jehan found it a bit mean that he had not wanted an answer for the easy question but now demanded one for the question that was so huge.

“Of course”, he whispered after a while, still smiling, and Combeferre sighed.

“Then why do you go around, throwing yourself in front of every musket you see?”

Jehan giggled, because the mental image was too funny. Combeferre apparently did not think so, because he smashed the needle in Jehan’s arm again.

“I didn’t see the musket”, he whined and tried to move away from the pain, but Combeferre clasped his arm like a bench vice. 

“Well that makes it all better”, Combeferre grumbled.

They sat in silence for a while, Combeferre’s eyes fixed on Jehan’s wound, Jehan’s eyes fixed on Combeferre’s tensed, thin lips.   
Again he cocked his head, and again he leant down, inevitably moving his arm, but before Combeferre could protest he pressed a soft peck on those lips. 

For three heartbeats Combeferre was frozen, then he sighed and continued his work.

“I would take a thousand bullets for the cause”, Jehan whispered.

“You know full well this was not for the cause.”

A second peck. This time, Combeferre moved his head and it went to the corner of his lips. 

“I’m sorry I ruined your day.”

“Will you let me finish if I accept?”

Jehan laughed and started to flail his arm slowly, forcing Combeferre to follow him with the needle and the thread sticking out of Jehan’s flesh. 

“Only if I can kiss you properly.”

“Jehan!”

“A kiss!”

Combeferre sighed, grabbed Jehan’s arm with his free hand and looked him in the eye.   
It was all Jehan needed, and he pressed a third kiss on his lips, the longest of them.   
When he leant back and opened his eyes again, Combeferre was expecting him with a raised eyebrow and a soft smile around the corners of his mouth. 

Jehan smiled back and held still for the rest of the procedure.


	4. Feuilly

As he had intended in the beginning, he decided to kiss Feuilly next.

Maybe he could have done it that very evening, after Combeferre had stitched him back together, but then again, two kisses in one day, and with two of his best friends, was almost too much for him.   
Moreover, he wanted to cherish the quest as long as possible, thus he went home early, and played the flute until his head was clear again and the landlady banged her broom against the ceiling.

He made a posy from the flowers on his window sill before he went out the following morning and left it in front of her door. 

She would hang it up and let it dry, Jehan had seen the collection of dried posies through the window once, though he did not understand how somebody could cling to pale corpses instead of enjoying the time they were alive.   
The next time they would meet face to face she would hide her gratitude behind a long-winded tirade about his nightly behaviour but she had a nice, deep voice, so he did not mind.

At noon he walked to the halls where Feuilly was currently working, to see whether he made a break today, but he must have left, or must have been made left, more likely, and was nowhere to be found.

Jehan took the longer way along the river and past his favourite baker to reach Feuilly’s small lodgings, which was a good idea because he arrived at exactly the same moment as Feuilly and did not need to wait.

“No work?”, he asked as introduction and though Feuilly seemed surprised to see Jehan here, he nodded.   
He had his arms full of books, and Jehan held them while Feuilly opened the door.

“Why do you know where I live?”, he asked.

It was a good question, and Jehan wrecked his head while he unloaded the books on the rickety table in the middle of the room.

“I don’t know”, he finally answered honestly. “Maybe I followed you home one night.”

“No. You never did”, Feuilly answered, and suddenly seemed a little bit unsettled. 

He stood in the small space between the table and the matress, as if he was waiting for Jehan to disappear, but he ignored it.   
Instead he stepped to the crenel of a window and peeped out into the dark alley and at the wall of the neighbouring house. 

He made a note in his head to give him a few candles with his next poem.

“Can I help you with something?”, Feuilly asked from behind when Jehan tried to fit his head through the window.   
It was too small.

“Yes, actually”, he answered with his lips almost touching the stone. 

He would never get a better opportunity, especially considering that he had bought an onion pie among others, and he loathed onion-kisses.

“I’m on a quest”, he explained when he was standing with his head in the right position again.

Feuilly nodded, still visibly unsure how to handle Jehan without the help of the others, but he came closer when Jehan leant over the table and waved him to do the same.

Of course he expected him to whisper something in his ear, and yelped when two strong hands grabbed his head to hold still for a long, searing kiss.

At first his tongue hid in the back just as Grantaire’s did, but for five blessed heartbeats, before he remembered what he was doing, and with whom, he leant into the kiss with his whole body.

Jehan realised that Feuilly smelled of glue and paper. He would have to sit with him at the next meeting.   
Then Feuilly hit his hands away and jumped back.

“Quest, hm?”, he asked and wiped a streak of saliva from the corner of his mouth.

Jehan smiled, and finally Feuilly cracked, and he winked:

“Is Joly missing laudanum again?”

Jehan did not answer, instead he started to tear the paper away from the pie, bread and rolls. 

Of course Feuilly refused to eat any of it at first but in the end he had to yield, and they sat down on his mattress.

Jehan tried to read from one of the books Feuilly had borrowed, but Feuilly's horror-stricken expression when Jehan leant over the pages with a piece of onion pie made him stop immediately.


	5. Bossuet & Joly

He arrived early to the next meeting, though still, as always, later than most of his friends.   
He squeezed in the space between Feuilly and Grantaire, or better said, he made a space, because Grantaire would not appreciate Feuilly’s flavour anyway, and because he wanted to slip three candles in his pocket without drawing attention.

Grantaire only protested with a weak grunt and poured him wine from his own bottle.   
Feuilly grinned and moved aside.

“I didn’t even ask how far you are in your quest”, he murmured in Jehan’s ear.

Jehan scanned the room. Besides the three of them he could see Combeferre and Enjolras hunched over their usual stack of papers, and Bahorel in the doorway, talking with a girl in the hallway.

“Everybody but Enjolras in this room”, he whispered back. 

Feuilly laughed quietly and looked around.

“What are you waiting for?”, he then asked and nodded towards the back of the room.

Jehan frowned. “Not possible.”

“Why?”

“Because you’d see.”

At that Feuilly rolled his eyes.   
Grantaire on the other hand had started to notice that they were not talking about the revolution, and he tried to eavesdrop.

“So you’ve attacked them all without witnesses, just like me?”, Feuilly asked. “That’s almost mischievous.” 

Jehan smiled, then he put his hands over Granaire’s ears.

“No no”, he said, “There were many people around, they simply did not see.”

He managed to keep Grantaire’s head locked between his hands for that one sentence, then Grantaire, with a swift, powerful move learnt in countless fights, turned Jehan’s arms on his back and forced his head flat on the table. 

Jehan laughed.

“You’re good.”

Grantaire kept Jehan’s arms fixed with one hand and tickled him until Jehan screamed and attracted Enjolras’ attention.

“Could you please stop?”

“Are we interrupting the assembly?”, Grantaire asked innocently while Jehan tried to catch his breath.

Enjolras scowled and turned back to Combeferre without another word.

Grantaire released Jehan and clung to his bottle again.

“So, you want to kiss everybody?”, he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Did I talk that loud?”, Jehan asked. 

“Try Bossuet and Joly next”, Grantaire suggested. 

“Joly has a cold”, Feuilly threw in.

“Try Bossuet next and then let him hold Joly in place”, he specified. 

“You’re not helping”, Jehan exclaimed, and again disturbed Enjolras in his thoughts.

“Neither are you”, he barked through the room, and Feuilly and Grantaire broke down in laughter. 

They kept teasing him until everybody had arrived and the assembly started, then only Grantaire continued, and more than once Enjolras scolded both of them for their interruption.   
It had never happened to Jehan before and he felt more miserable with every minute he had to sit in the Musain. He was so occupied with keeping Grantaire at bay that he did not even realise when Feuilly left his seat and did not come back until the end.   
He bent over the table and grabbed his hat that was still on the bench. 

“Good night”, he wished with a grin and disappeared into the night.

Jehan waited a few minutes, then he stood up too.   
Grantaire was now severely drunk, and it needed a bit of cajoling, and help from Enjolras, to free himself from his grip. 

Enjolras eyed him somewhat disappointed, maybe it meant that Jehan could kiss him when he apologized for the evening.

He pushed away the thought and walked out of the Musain.   
He had not walked three steps, to be exact he was just passing the last window of the house, when somebody jumped off the sill. 

“Already going home?”, Bossuet asked good-naturedly and stepped closer. 

Jehan did not even try to be angry with Feuilly, and he simply laughed. 

Bossuet smiled knowingly and put an arm around his shoulders.

“You didn’t think you could keep it secret?”, he asked.

“Actually, I did”, Jehan confessed. 

Bossuet shook his head and continued to stare at him until Jehan finally yielded and, with one last giggle, embraced him in a kiss. 

It was soft and Bossuet still smiling, and Jehan understood why Joly and Musichetta were so fond of him.

Bossuet was the one to break the kiss, and he laughed again when Jehan blushed, embarrassed that he got lost so easily in the kiss.

“And another one down”, Bossuet joked. “Though Courfeyrac will be very disappointed that you did not go to him first. He...”

He could not finish the sentence because in that moment Joly caught up with them.   
He wore a long coat even though it was a warm early summer night, and he panted slightly.

“Have you already started?”, he asked.

“Already finished”, Bossuet answered, and Joly huffed.

“Pity that I missed it. Do you want tongue and all, Jehan? Because I have that cold, and it might not be the wisest thing, and anyway...”

Jehan, still furiously blushing, closed his eyes and silenced him with a long kiss on Joly’s closed lips. 

“I like that”, Joly commented afterwards, and each of them took one of Jehan’s arms and together they walked through the streets of Paris.

“Does that count?”, Bossuet asked skeptically. “I mean, it’s a Joly-cold, not a...you know.”

Joly frowned exaggeratedly. 

“I think it does”, Jehan answered. “Otherwise Combeferre wouldn’t count as well.”

“See?”, Joly asked over Jehan’s head.

“Well, of course you can’t kiss Ferre with tongue. You wouldn’t kiss your father that way, would you?”, Bossuet argued. 

They kept bantering over Jehan’s head until they were only one corner from his house away.

“And by the way”, Joly addressed him, “Courfeyrac is very insulted.”

“I already told him that”, Bossuet said.

They stopped in front of the door, though neither Joly nor Bossuet let him go yet.

“I didn’t want him to know it”, Jehan said.

“You have a point”, Joly agreed. He looked stern. “But you need to apologize.”

“He will want a...profound apology”, Bossuet added, and both grinned at Jehan, who was already blushing again.

“I understand.”

“I bet you do.” 

“Though I’m more worried about Enjolras.”

Bossuet shuddered. “Whatever you do, do it when we’re not present. I don’t like blood.”

“I don’t know, I might want to see it”, Joly mused. “I could get extra credit points if I bring a fresh corpse to my professor.”

Jehan whimpered.

“Good night”, Bossuet smiled, both kissed him once again, then they left into the night.


	6. Courfeyrac

Courfeyrac:

 

“I am livid”, Courfeyrac said as greeting when Jehan opened the door the next morning, and kissed him right there, in the open door. 

As Jehan had suspected he was the best kisser of them all, and he preemptively counted Enjolras in, soft yet demanding, tender yet toothy.

“Livid”, he repeated when they finally broke apart and Jehan tried to catch his breath.

“I’m sorry”, he murmured. "But it would have not been the same."

“No need”, Courfeyrac answered, and before Jehan could protest they were kissing again.   
This time Courfeyrac’s hands wandered down Jehan’s back.

“My landlady”, he warned but Courfeyrac pressed kisses all down his neck.

“Gorgeous lady”, he agreed, and finally stepped away with a sly grin. “And now we’ll plan the attack on Enjolras.”

Jehan choked the sigh down.


	7. Enjolras

In the end it was a Courfeyrac-plan, which meant that it was a very stupid plan.  
Jehan hated it, hated the fuss the others had created, hated that they did not leave him alone anymore, and almost regretted his quest.

He had no chance but to sit next to Enjolras at the next meeting, thanks to Courfeyrac. 

Of course he did not kiss him then, he barely even talked during the whole evening, it was difficult enough to laugh at all the jabs he others pointed at him, and that all went over Enjolras’ head. 

He finally realised that something was strange when everybody started to leave the room after Enjolras' monologue.

“Combeferre, there’s something I want to show to you”, Courfeyrac said, and before Combeferre could even yelp he was being dragged out of the room.

Jehan heard his protests behind the closed door, then he had to concentrate on Enjolras.

“What is the matter?”

“Maybe they all need to pee.”

Enjolras sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“I’m sure it’s Courfeyrac again.”

Jehan shrugged absently. “In a way...”

Enjolras did not hear him. “And just yesterday I thought that we’ve had so few trouble in the last weeks...”

Jehan giggled and wrapped an arm around Enjolras’ shoulders. 

As he had anticipated, Enjolras tensed immediately, but he acted quickly and pressed a kiss on his cheek.

Enjolras turned his head and eyed Jehan curiously, and before he could say anything, Jehan had another kiss pressed on his lips, because even though he did not like the quest anymore, he would not lie to himself.  
A kiss on the lips it had to be.

He held his breath and raised his shoulders as he waited for Enjolras’ reaction.

To his utmost surprise, Enjolras almost tenderly lifted Jehan’s arm off his shoulders. 

“I thought we’ve talked about that...”

“Oh God!”, Jehan screamed. “It’s not the laudanum. Can’t I just kiss my friends?”

From behind the door they heard cheering.

“He did it!”, Bossuet yelled.

Enjolras tried to be upset, but for once he yielded to Jehan’s smile and only shook his head, then he stood up and went to free Combeferre from Courfeyrac’s clasp.


	8. + 1: Marius

It was a comfortable Sunday afternoon at Courfeyrac’s. 

They had written a new pamphlet, discussed a potential rally close to the Bastille, shared wine and bread, and had a good time. 

Enjolras and Combeferre had left after they had finished the pamphlet, because of course they still wanted to bring it to the printer, and not shortly afterwards Joly and Bossuet had gone home too, probably to Musichetta. 

It was only Courfeyrac, naturally, Jehan, Feuilly, Bahorel and Grantaire left when the door suddenly opened and Courfeyrac’s bumbling friend came in. 

His ears and face went beet red when he realised that Courfeyrac had visitors, and for a second he seemed to consider to just run away.

“Marius!”, Courfeyrac exclaimed happily. “Come in! Don’t be shy. I’m sure you still know Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bahorel and Grantaire from the Musain.”

Marius nodded shily while Bahorel laughed shamelessly at the memory of that awkward evening.

“Don’t be afraid”, Grantaire added with a grin. “A friend of Courfeyrac’s is a friend of our’s.”

Marius nodded again and closed the door behind himself.   
His clothes were threadbare like Bossuet’s and Feuilly’s, and he seemed almost starved. 

Jehan felt pity with him as he remembered that Courfeyrac was his only friend, and though he was nice, he was not fit for somebody who was as shy as Marius.

He jumped up from the ground, and before Marius could flinch away he hugged him tightly.

“You don’t need to be afraid”, he whispered before he kissed him.

Marius squeaked, but it drowned in the laughter from the others behind them.


End file.
